


Synchronicity

by kikiirin



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikiirin/pseuds/kikiirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time is chance; the second, a coincidence; and the third, a pattern. Or, the only thing predictable about Pascal is her unpredictability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHANCE, noun: a possibility of something happening.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> “Wha— no! That’s not—”A sigh escaped him, “I’m fine, Pascal. What are you doing here?”
> 
> “Well, I’ve been kachunking on Forbrannir, right? Follow-up stuff yanno. And I totally had this breakthrough or whatever, but then like things went kablooey and I gotta fix it but it’s just so cold that I couldn’t concentrate anymore, so I thought Strahta would warm me up nice and good so my brain’d be all, ‘a-ha!’, and here I am! Besides…” She trailed off momentarily.
> 
> “—you said you wanted to see me.”

The first time was after a long, grueling sortie at the Strahta Desert ruins to repel a monster rampage and evaluate the condition of their valkines cryas, Duplemar. One could only imagine what the unfortunate combination of strenuous physical activity and the unadulterated rays of the desert sun would yield; needless to say, Lieutenant Hubert Oswell—despite the pride he took in staying sharp in both mind and body—was an unfortunate victim. His military uniform, sodden with sweat, clung to him uncomfortably, never mind the tiny grains of desert sand that decorated wherever it could stick and held with such ferocity only a combination of soap and water could manage to overcome. As he led his troops back to Yu Liberte, he spared a forethought to how much he would enjoy a temperate bath and fresh clothes as soon as possible, his mind momentarily wandering to how anyone in a similar situation could feel otherwise.

Like pieces set perfectly in a clock, the soldiers, with Hubert at the helm, made their way towards the government district in orderly formation, epitomizing an attribute that the lieutenant prized most in his work: _perfection_. Yet, just as the most beautifully crafted timepiece ceases to turn lest one gear be out of place did it fall apart, all because of a single boot that lay haphazardly without its pair nor its owner. That one damned boot caused a comical domino effect resulting in Hubert on the receiving end of a dogpile, venting his frustration at failing to notice it by barking at the enervated soldiers to reorganize themselves post-haste.

Casting an accusatory eye to the vicinity as he readjusted his frames, Hubert challenged the local bystanders, “And just who does _this_ belong to?”

The chance of the militant picking it up was nil, so he merely glared at the shoe with such intensity that it would be no surprise if it had actually gotten up on its own and hopped away.

“Make yourself known now! I’ll have you know that this can be considered treason.”

A splash caught his attention and Hubert turned towards the origin of the sound, eyes resting on the barefoot culprit: a mop of red and white perched on the edge of the fountain, back turned to the young lieutenant, with legs dangling in the water and feet rhythmically breaking the surface in turn, left and then right, sending ripples from one side to the other.

He did not need to see her face for the recognition to set in, evident in his features as he stood slouched forward, mouth agape. Of course it was _her_ , the very woman who had been sneaking her way into even his most mundane thoughts. How many times had he imagined— _fantasized_ —the day they reunited after that final battle in Fodra down to the smallest detail? Any sense of responsibility he took upon himself to reprimand her for such inappropriate behavior dissipated completely, robbed from him along with all sense of logical thought.

As the young woman leaned back on her hands and allowed her head to fall in relaxation, she noticed him from her upside down peripheral, cherry lips curving into a wide smile.

“Hey, Little Br— oopsies, Hu!” she called out to him, making a closed peace sign with her fingers and giving a little wave.

“P-Pascal.” A most decorous response indeed, voice betraying his usual calm exterior and perhaps more forceful than intended; but either it flew over Pascal’s head or she did not seem to mind, for she appeared unfazed as she continued to play in the water— _splish splash splish splash_ —for what seemed like an eternity.

“Cease that at once!” Hubert winced at the sharpness in his own words, but he had been desperate to catch her attention. Regardless, the outcome was in his favor as Pascal did stop and pivot her body around to face him.

“Wow, Hu. You seem angry.” She paused, tapping a finger to her chin in a quick moment of thought. “Is it this heat? You should come play in the water, too!”

“Wha— no! That’s not—”A sigh escaped him, “I’m fine, Pascal. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’ve been kachunking on Forbrannir, right? Follow-up stuff yanno. And I totally had this breakthrough or whatever, but then like things went kablooey and I gotta fix it but it’s just so cold that I couldn’t concentrate anymore, so I thought Strahta would warm me up nice and good so my brain’d be all, ‘a-ha!’, and here I am! Besides…”

She trailed off momentarily to jump off the fountain and bound over to him. Droplets of water stained her shirt so that he could faintly make out the shape of her undergarments, causing him to swallow hard and internally scold himself for his indecency—he was far above any carnal instinct, after all—as he tried to maintain eye contact. Admittedly, that, too, proved equally as nerve-wracking, and made even more complicated after what slipped out of her mouth next:

“—you said you wanted to see me.”

 _Ah_. It was a funny story, really; well, not particularly for Hubert, but perhaps for his cohort. A few days prior, during a coincidental rendezvous in Windor, he had found himself in a certain bar with a certain captain—

_Have you tamed your stray cat yet?”_

_“Er, we’ve…—”_ what exactly? _“… been in contact.”_

_Not a lie, no, but not exactly the truth either. Their obligations had undoubtedly kept them busy. Once in a while Hubert would send a brief message through the communication device, unintentionally curt despite putting hours of effort into each and every word that crafted his dispatch (which was almost always work-related as he had yet to think of any other excuse to contact her), and Pascal’s responses as whimsical as she, intermittent and not entirely coherent within the restraints of proper diction, but cherished nonetheless._

_The answer was apparently not the one Malik was looking for and had his reflexes not been muddled in embarrassment, perhaps Hubert would have been able to deter the older man from grabbing the communicator from the lieutenant’s coat pocket, as he had a tendency to brush his hand against it absentmindedly in hopes that it would summon a response, giving away its location. The scuffle happened just as quickly as it began, with Malik returning the device to Hubert’s palm and nodding approval._

_“You can thank me later.”_

—but instead of gratitude, Hubert felt nothing but dread. He waited anxiously for her response, somewhat fearful of how she may react, going so far as to even finding himself waking from sound sleep to scramble for his glasses and check if he received a reply or if he had dreamt it. Days passed and still nothing, until almost two weeks had gone by. He had all but given up hope by then, relinquishing himself to the thought that whatever the captain wrote made her come to dislike him entirely.

Alas, it would do no good to deny nor try to explain the situation now, as it seemed to garner results in his favor. Perhaps he did owe the captain some appreciation. Strahta was not exactly a hop, skip, and a jump from Fendel, after all. Belated she may be, but her being there for his sake certainly tickled his pride. In an effort to contain himself, he crossed his arms.

“So I did.”

Too caught up in his recollection, he failed to notice Pascal had inched forward, leaning her face to his close enough that her breath began to fog his glasses. When at last he realized, his heart began to beat wildly in his chest as the implications of her proximity dawned on him. But  _here_ of all places? Obscene! Nonetheless, he resisted the instinct to take a step backwards in respect for personal space, and then—

“P _ee-yew_ , Hu! You totally stink. Even worse than me!”

He could feel his ears turning red as he heard a few soldiers snicker from behind. With a quick swivel around, he snapped their discharge, “You are all dismissed! I expect a full report by 18:00.” The laughter immediately hushed to groans and the soldiers scattered, leaving just him and Pascal in the middle of the street.

And then, _silence_. He recited countless times what he would say to her face-to-face, to finally get his feelings across in a way that she understood. Try as he may, he seemed to fail at providing the right variables for her to solve the equation on her own. When at last he gathered the courage to speak, Pascal beat him to the punch.

“Welp, guess I’d better go! See ya, Hu.”

“G-go? Where?”

“Y’know, back to work and stuff. I can’t just leave my project there unattended for too long ‘coz it may get lonely without me. See ya!”

And with that, she collected her boots and without even bothering to put them on, traipsed off on bare feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: This was originally meant to be a one-shot. Uh, oops?


	2. Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COINCIDENCE, noun: a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> It was then that Hubert realized that his and Asbel’s arrival had gone undetected, but knowing Pascal, not even that would have stopped her.
> 
> “Pascal, not in the entranceway—” Cheria’s patience was running thin at this point, “—oh whatever, let’s hurry up and get this done!”
> 
> Needless to say, everything came to an abrupt halt as Pascal’s overalls flew through the air and landed in a heap next to Hubert’s feet.

The second time was a month later in Lhant, the odds of the chain of coincidences leading up to the encounter so slim that not even Hubert could have foreseen them. Having had the rare luxury of time to spare after completing a diplomatic rendezvous nearby, the young lieutenant had been graced by the Lord of Lhant himself, though perhaps not quite so surprising giving their familial ties. As reluctant as Hubert may have been to agree, Asbel—with the same stubbornness he never did quite outgrow from childhood—somehow managed to convince his younger brother to return with him to the manor. Hubert’s tumultuous relationship with his mother after his adoption had mended, so perhaps, thought Hubert, it would not be unpleasant to see her again.

No sooner than he crossed the threshold did he chance upon a usual scene in the Lhant household: Cheria in the midst of giving a scolding. However, the difference lay in that her victim was not the usual suspect, as fiery brown eyes were cut away from Asbel and instead pointed, along with her finger, at someone else standing in the atrium. But Sophie, who had grown quite tall in her ‘adulthood,’ obstructed the brothers’ view.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been asking you for a month now—a _month_ —to come for your fitting!”

“Geez, sorry Cheria. Yanno I’ve been crazy busy lately. But I’m here now, so no worries, right?”

Leave it to Pascal to incur the wrath of bridezilla Cheria. With the wedding just weeks away, she should have known better than to leave her friend’s request to get fitted for her bridesmaid dress until the last minute, even if it was claimed to be by accident. It was going to be Cheria’s special day, after all. On the other hand, Cheria had to remind herself once again that Pascal was Pascal, and had she not started requesting her involvement the very day of their engagement announcement, then there was a good chance that Pascal would still be caught up in her research even now.

Still, Cheria could not help balling her hands into fists and the siblings winced, for they knew what was coming next—

“ _Un_ -believable!”

The shrillness adhering to each syllable seemed to echo off the manor’s walls, and it was honestly a surprise that the windows remained intact after all the years of withstanding it. Pascal cowered momentarily, no doubt an excuse to cling to Sophie’s arm, before straightening up and shrugging her shoulders as if in concession.

“Welp, let’s get it over with then!”

It was then that Hubert realized that his and Asbel’s arrival had gone undetected, but knowing Pascal, not even _that_ would have stopped her.

“Pascal, not in the entranceway—” Cheria’s patience was running thin at this point, “—oh whatever, let’s hurry up and get this done!”

Needless to say, everything came to an abrupt halt as Pascal’s overalls flew through the air and landed in a heap next to Hubert’s feet.

* * *

“Sorry about that guys, I didn’t even hear you two come in. Don’t tell anyone else I wear granny panties, okay?”

“My,” Kerri interrupted from the opposite head of the long dining table, lips curved into a taut smile though her eyes remained warm. “It’s been a while since I’ve had _both_ sons present for a meal. And how lovely of you to join us as well, Pascal.”

As the group partook in the dinner spread laid out Frederic, small talk began to fill the silence between bites, mostly revolving around the upcoming wedding but spanning to cover topics such as Hubert’s recent commission, Sophie’s gardening, and Pascal’s wide array of projects. The atmosphere was overall light and pleasant, an indicator that the world was largely at peace thanks to the table of humble heroes. Nonetheless, just because the denizens of Ephenia were able to enjoy calm on a universal level did not stop the idiosyncrasies on the micro-level, such as, for example, Hubert’s heart.

Hubert was no stranger to dinner parties given his adoptive father’s background and military career, but this one felt particularly long and exhausting albeit not for the usual reasons. Rather, he found it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation in which someone engaged him, instead feigning proper responses and accidentally nodding at questions that required more elaboration, all because his attention was held by something—rather, some _one_ —else. Although his eyes would never betray it, his ears did the work for him. Alas, try as he may to try to insert himself into whatever conversation Pascal flitted in and out of, his timing was either off or he could never find purpose in offering his commentary.

Just as dessert was served did Kerri take the opportunity to remark yet again how delighted she was for Asbel and Cheria to soon be joined in matrimony, though her gaze remained settled on her second son. Hubert, feeling his mother’s eyes boring holes in him, knew it was only a matter of time before she spoke up if he did not offer an excuse to return to his post.

Alas, timing be damned, for just as he pushed his half-finished dessert plate forward and was about to rise to his feet to excuse himself did his mother seize the opportunity to speak up.

“So Hubert dear, when are you going to get married?”

“Mother—!”

He should have known really, but Hubert had hoped to make an escape before matters escalated to this point. Instead, here he remained, gaping at his mother when the love of his life sprung to his aid. He was relieved at first, only, well, _Pascal_.

“Oh yeah, aren’t you all mwa mwa mwa hanky-panky with the president’s daughter?”

“Hanky-pa— _Pascal_!”

“ _Pascal_!” Cheria’s voice synced with Hubert’s, hands over Sophie’s ears as if to protect her innocence. “That’s inappropriate!”

“Why? Sophie’s totally an adult now.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“D-Did you say something _wrong_?!” Hubert sputtered, though Pascal merely looked up at him with a look of genuine confusion, akin to Sophie whenever she commented on the robust peach-like shape of Cheria’s posterior. After a deep breath—or perhaps it was more of a sigh?—he used two fingers to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and continued with considerable restraint to keep his tone even as he explained, “As I told you before, I have no intention of marrying her.”

“Oh gee whiz, sorry Hu. She sure is missing out on a great guy.”

And with that, his irritation seemed to melt away.


	3. Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PATTERN, noun: an arrangement or sequence regularly found in comparable objects or events.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> “Getting comfy there, Hu?”
> 
> The sudden greeting from the darkness gave him cause for alarm, and had he not recognized Pascal’s voice, he may very well have drawn his weapon on her. Lucky for him, he had removed only his coat; it would have been all the more humiliating if he had been caught off guard and in nothing but his skivvies. 
> 
> “Don’t you know how to knock?”

The third time, Hubert decided in hindsight, set the pattern. He had just finished a day full of grueling paperwork that he had grossly underestimated and wanted nothing more than to rest his eyes. None of the house staff greeted him upon his entry—having retired for the evening themselves, no doubt—, but that suited him just fine. He was in a foul mood and would likely have turned them away regardless. Upon entering his bedchambers, he immediately began to shed his uniform without even bothering to switch on the lamp at his bedside. 

“Getting comfy there, Hu?”

The sudden greeting from the darkness gave him cause for alarm, and had he not recognized Pascal’s voice, he may very well have drawn his weapon on her. Lucky for him, he had removed only his coat; it would have been all the more humiliating if he had been caught off guard _and_ in nothing but his skivvies.

“Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I was here first,” Pascal shrugged, and he was able to make out her silhouette with the aid of the light of the full moon streaming in from the latticed casement window.

“I—” She had a point, and he found himself falling for her flawed logic despite the fact that it was, well, _his_ room. His eyes followed her as she shut a book—his favorite Sunscreen Rangers comic anthology, he noted—she had been paging through before his arrival and slid off her perch on his desk. He had to resist the urge to put the book back in its rightful place after her descent. “Who let you in?”

“Some girl in frilly-frills. I guess she was your maid or something. She said you were out, but I wanted to jump out and be all ‘bwah!’ to surprise you, so she said I could wait here. But then hours passed and you never showed up, so I ate some cookies and took a catnap, and then you walked in and started taking off your clothes and I totally thought, ‘wow, if I don’t say anything I’m totally gonna see Hubert nak—‘”

“I _know_ the last part, we just lived it.” Despite being flustered, he felt a pang of guilt despite rationale arguing otherwise. It was her own fault she chose to wait for him instead of seeking him out. “Why didn’t you just come to my office?”

“Because you‘re always busy with work or whatever. I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

A cynical hum escaped him. Pascal not wanting to interrupt? It seemed unbelievable.

“Well, you’re prolly all tired now so…”

Wait, did he hurt her feelings just then? Hubert reached out and grabbed her hand, so quickly in fact that he hardly realized what he had done until she was looking up at him with wide eyes. Still, he did not loosen his grip for fear that she would waltz off on him again.

“Ah… Y-you don’t have to go, Pascal. What did you need me for?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, sheesh. That girl just gave me sooo much tea and I reaaally hafta pee. Where’s the bathroom in this place anyway?”

* * *

Painstakingly aware of Pascal’s seemingly inability to whisper coupled with her lapses in social graces, Hubert suggested that they go for a stroll through the desert town. Mustering the energy was a challenge, but having a woman in his bedroom at these scandalous hours might fuel unscrupulous rumors that Hubert would rather keep at bay, for both their sakes. It was a precaution that Hubert considered to be gallant, only for the realization that such a thought likely failed to cross Pascal’s mind. Even if such gossip _were_ to crop up, Pascal would dismiss it without second thought, if she even bothered to let the assumptions sink in to begin with.

He deflated.

They walked in silence until Pascal finally plopped down onto the lip of the town’s central fountain, stretching her arms and legs out before slumping back and patting next to her. Hubert cautiously took occupancy per her request, not entirely sure how to proceed. They sat a few moments in silence and just as Hubert turned to her did she cut to the chase.

“Say Hu, do you ever feel like you work super hard at something and it just blows up in your face?”

Knowing Pascal, she must have meant it literally. Still, it was the first time he heard her talk like this. It was as if, despite her genius that aided them time and time again, she was on the brink of defeat. He of all people also knew that even she had her moments of weakness, like when her sister exploded on her or when he caught her crying during her sleep that first night in Fodra, but it took him a little off guard nonetheless.

“I mean, I’ve always kinda just winged it in the past and chucked whatever looked like it wasn’t going anywhere, but I guess it finally got to me that a lot of people are counting on me, so...”

It was then that Hubert realized that perhaps this was the real reason why Pascal had been waiting for him in this very spot all those weeks ago. He was aware her work with Fendel’s valkines cryas had spun off into her being a somewhat of a technical liaison between countries and had to be hard on her free-spirit, but he never once got the inkling that it bothered her to this extent. In fact, he was at a loss for a proper response. Unlike their companions, he was never really good at heartfelt conversations like these, even if he always stumbled upon (what he assumed to be) the right thing to say. That is, when he was being honest.

He gave a careful pause.

“Sometimes there are just things that we do, no matter how hard we try, that don’t turn out as we expect them to. But those setbacks are normal.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

“Well, I’ve had my fair share of moments,” he conceded, perhaps with a little _too_ much candor. “The point is, you’re really good at what you do. And because of that, you may be expected to know everything. It’s a lot of pressure, but don’t let it get to you. That’s what I— _we_ ’re here for. You aren’t alone.”

He looked over at Pascal in earnest, surprised to see her rubbing the corners of her eyes with gloved hands.

“Thanks Hu,” Pascal sniffled with a lopsided smile. “I guess you’re right. My head got all messed up thinking about all these “what if”s. But I got you and Fourier and everyone to keep me on track when I get stuck. It’s like a great big ol’ family!”

For Pascal, who lived amongst a secret race and whose only true family was her older sister, this was a much more loaded statement than Hubert could appreciate. Even though he knew he had no right to complain—having been shuffled from one privileged household to the other—he still garnered some resentment that he had trouble coming to terms with until recently. Nonetheless, Hubert found her enthusiasm contagious as she beamed from beside him, his own lips twitching upwards.

Then, without any prior notice, Pascal leaped up give him a big hug. … Only Hubert panicked with the sudden movement and jerked his head at the last possible moment, accidentally mashing mouths with her instead. As if the sudden whiplash was not enough, inertia continued to fail him, causing their teeth to knock together uncomfortably. Both were wide-eyed during the exchange, lingering in shock until Hubert pulled away in humiliation, glasses sliding down his nose and leaving him a blurry image of the Amarcian hooking a finger beneath her chin.

“Well, uh,  _that_  was super awkward.” 

Leave it to Pascal to state the obvious.


End file.
